I’ve been watching movies.

I haven’t been watching movies because of the Oscars, mind you. Last year’s Oscar-nominee-watching binge taught me never to do that again. I think one of the requirements to be nominated for Best Picture is to be so depressing you want to kill myself when it’s over (The Reader, anyone? Can I sprinkle some Slumdog Millionaire on that for you?). So this year, I decided I would only watch movies I wanted to. In the process I did end up seeing some Best Picture contenders (Avatar, Up), but only because I was interested in what the film had to say. I’ve just recently seen a whole bunch of films – Braveheart (yeah, I know, I don’t know why I didn’t get around to it before), District 9 and The Hurt Locker. I’m now watching Inglorious Basterds because Christoph Waltz is so dreamy. I love a multilingual man in uniform, even if that uniform is a baddie uniform, with lightning bolts and swastikas and skulls on them. I’m not picky.

1. A few things: I could not get past the fluffy mullets with the wee braidlets in them. I don’t care how much of a barbarian you are, if you look like a combination of a shaggy dog and an eight-year-old girl, you can talk about battle and freedom and fling all the large rocks you want, I’m not going to take you seriously.
2. How did I not notice how freakin’ attractive Mel Gibson was? Aye and begorrah, those blue eyes. I could almost overlook the Where The Wild Things Are hair. Almost.
3. I loved when the Irish and Scottish met up on the battlefield. That’s probably my favorite moment in the film.
4. Did everyone not love The Man Who Could Not Be Killed? He was the older fellah, Hamish’s father? At one point there was an arrow in his chestal regions, where I believe many people keep their vital organs, which would cause those people to die, but not him, this Scottish Rasputin. He then had his hand chopped off with an axe, but that didn’t slow him down. Finally, after a battle sequence where I think he was whacked in the midsection with a sword, finally, later that night, he died. He totally reminded me of Monty Python’s Black Knight (“‘Tis but a scratch!” “A scratch? Your arm’s off!” “No, it isn’t!” “Well, what’s that then?” “I’ve had worse.”) By the way, you lose a lot of coolness points in life for yelling out Monty Python lines throughout the whole of Braveheart, like I did. (“There’s some lovely mud over ‘ere!”) Especially during the scenes with the English king and his femme homosexual son. I basically quoted this whole scene.
5. Remember that glorious night a few years ago, when Mel had a few too many and got a DUI? When he called the lady cop something resembling “Honey Mammaries,” and he said the Jews caused all the wars in the world? I made Cricket laugh when the movie was over and I yelled at the screen, “Hey, Mel, see this war between Scotland and England? In 1200 A.D.? How’d we cause this one, Mel? HUH? Tell me, I’d love to hear that.”
Final feelings: Braveheart was a sword-clanging disemboweling good time. I don’t think it’s my favorite movie of all time by any means, but it was certainly worth seeing. Too many battle sequences for my taste.

District 9
South Africa gettin’ all apartheid on aliens. I am not kidding. That’s the plot. I am 100% biased in favor of this film, simply because I love love LOVE the accents. My large portion of my family lives in South Africa and my parents lived in Johannesburg for a year and a half, so I have a close attachment to the culture and the people. So as soon as this film started, I was a happy camper. It did fill the criteria for Best Picture because it had a very sad ending. And I find any film that has copious amounts of trash and no plants makes me sad (I had a real problem with WALL-E). Final feelings: loved the accents, didn’t like the trash, mega-sad ending.

The Hurt Locker
DUSTIEST MOVIE EVER. Remember how I was a-bitchin’ and a-moaning about all the bright colors in Avatar? I take that back. Waaaay back. I wanted to start introductions between this film and color (“Hi. Hurt Locker? Meet my friends, Red, Blue and Green. Why don’t you all take off your shoes and get comfortable, hmmmm?”) Also, ain’t no dames in this picture neither. I don’t know if I would make it Best Picture myself, but it was definitely tension-filled. These army guys are in Iraq defusing bombs, so there’s a ton of shots where someone slooooooowly reaches for a wire, and geeeeeeently moves a triggery bit, and there you are chewing your hands off at the wrists. Oh, and here’s a gigantor spoiler, so don’t read this if you plan to see the film:

:::SPOILER::: There were three actors in this film that I was really psyched to see: Guy Pierce (“Priscilla, Qwayne of the Desitt!”), the guy who played the bloodless serial killer on the first season of Dexter, and Ralph Fiennes. RALPH, people. And guess what? They all die really quickly in their various scenes. They barely get five lines out before – poof! – they go from a solid to a fine mist due to an IED going off right next to them, or a sniper picks them off. Why do you get awesome actors in your film and then give then nothing fun to do, and also kill them? It makes no sense to me. :::SPOILER:::

When I’m done with Inglorious Basterds, I will let you know how I feel about it.

Addendum: I’m done with it. Was there a point to that film? Aside from Christoph Waltz (dreamy), it was kind of… pointless. I don’t think I like Quentin Tarantino’s writing style very much. I didn’t much care for Pulp Fiction, and from what I know about Reservoir Dogs, I wouldn’t like that much either.

Leave a Reply